


The Adventure Zone Corral; or, Howdy, Sirs!

by Fools_Rush_In_TAZ



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Guns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fools_Rush_In_TAZ/pseuds/Fools_Rush_In_TAZ
Summary: An old storyteller gets more than he bargained for as he weaves a tale of lawmen and robbers.
Kudos: 5





	The Adventure Zone Corral; or, Howdy, Sirs!

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I'm back, and I've got a new work going. New chapter of Bonds Unbreakable is coming soon, possibly more of other things as well!
> 
> Enjoy some cowboy stuff.
> 
> Recommended listening: Hell and You, by Amigo the Devil

“Legend ‘round these parts tells of a Ranger called McDonald,” began Fisher, the old bartender, as he polished up the bar on a lazy Wednesday afternoon. “They say he was born out in Tennessee while Texas was fighting the war against Santa Anna. He learned to fire a rifle early; his pa was killed in California by claim jumpers. He went out west seeking gold, and all he found was the point of a gun in his back. Sad thing is, they say little Angus never heard about his old man. His mama tried to shelter him from the news, and when she died in the influenza outbreak, his secret died with her.”

The Bluebonnet Bar was quiet this time of the afternoon, when the heat of the day beat down on field hands and day laborers who longed to end their shifts and escape to the safety of the inn. Fisher and his young grandson Junior ran the one tavern in little Rabbithole, Texas, and before the end of the work day, there was little to do but clean up and tell stories. When Fisher began spinning his frontier tales, Junior would set down his broom and sit perched on the piano bench, raptly hanging onto his grandaddy’s words as Johann, the piano player, dozed drunkenly in the corner.

“After his mama died, little Angus went into the saintly care of his grandaddy in the young Republic of Texas, and was shipped to their family estate in Austin. He learned well and he learned fast that if you wanna make it in this damn world, you gotta be sure of shot and strong of heart.

“Young Angus took to the law early. There was some affair regarding silverware...I can’t rightly recall it right now. Anyhow, he became the youngest lawman in the south at sixteen, round about the time Texas went back to war against Mexico. He brought in Jesse Jenkins, the outlaw who pulled off the Rockport Limited train heist, his first day as a Ranger. The kid was a rising star in the lone star state, that’s for damn sure. But he met his match when he went up against the Seven Birds...” 

The bell above the door rang as a stranger stepped his way into the bar. He was draped all over in a long Navajo sarape, and wore a wide brimmed hat that shadowed his face. Old man Fisher waved at him as he sat down in a corner booth, propping his boots up on the seat to polish the dust of the road off of them. 

“Who are the Seven Birds, grandpa?” Junior asked, absently picking on the keys of the piano.

“Why, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Seven Birds!” Fisher cried. “Los Siete Pájaros were the meanest outfit in the west, that’s sure as shootin’. They’d been dug deep into every criminal operation west of New Orleans since the West was wild. That there gang was made up of the seven meanest outlaws in all the territories, and they had killed every lawman and bribed every judge who ever saw fit to challenge them!

“The first bird, Mad Magnus Burnsides-.”

“...was a master of strong-arm robbery,” interrupted the stranger, eyes still focused on his boots. “No bank was safe when Mad Maggie rolled into town, and no lawman neither. He had the fastest draw in the west by a mile, and the notches on his pistol numbered one and nineteen more for every Ranger who had ever tried to end his reign of terror.”

The tavern hushed up quick as Junior and Fisher turned to stare at the newcomer. He took off his hat and set it on the table, then stepped up to the bar, his spurs jingling against the floor with every slow, self-assured step.

“The second,” Fisher began again, “was Merle ‘Diablo’ Highchurch. He was the eldest of the crew, and the meanest. One-eyed and one-armed, the old man had been a preacher before bandits bombed his congregation, and now he made his living terrorizing townsfolk with the fear of God Almighty-and with the fear of Merle Highchurch himself.”

The handsome young stranger nodded sagely at the old man, and continued.

“The third and the fourth, The Twins, were a wiley pair of con artists who went by only Taako and Lup. Who could forget the Cedar City debacle, when The Twins connived to part an entire town of Mormons from their money by selling moonshine as a health tonic? Their stagecoach rolling into a town drew fools from miles around, and meant certain death to the fortune of any young dilettante unwise enough to make their acquaintance.”

Fisher, smiling now, took over. “The fifth member of the gang was Dr. Barry ‘Bluejeans’ Briggs. Bluejeans was a quiet type from back east, and a particularly chilling villain indeed. His medical license revoked for unethical treatments, he fled to the Wild West to practice his craft with no oversight or morality to stand in his way.”

Shuddering at the thought of such villainy, the stranger sang the next verse of the song. “The sixth, Drew ‘Redbeard’ Davenport, was a pirate who plagued the coast of Texas, Louisiana, Florida, and Mexico. The bounty on his head totalling a fortune in bullion silver, when the dreadful Davenport was at the rudder, all ships flying respectable flags had better fear.”

Fisher nodded, and concluded. “The seventh and final, Lucretia, the Director, was the head of the outfit, and was the greatest forger of paperwork ever born. Her hand was impeccable, and it could copy licenses, pardons, or bank notes just as smooth as it could copy her own name. Her pistol quicker than Magnus’s, her tongue sharper than Taako’s, and her reputation more fearsome than even Merle’s, she earned her place as the queen of crime in the frontier.”

The stranger laughed, and set a coin down on the counter as he sat. “I’d like a sasparilla, sir, and the rest of that story if you don’t mind.”

Junior could contain himself no longer, and rushed to the side of the stranger. “Who are you, mister? How do you know so much about cowboys and robbers?”

The stranger smiled and placed his Stetson on the boy's head. “I suppose it is mighty rude to interrupt a master storyteller at work without so much as an introduction.” He rose and fished a star-shaped badge out of his vest, and handed it to the boy.

“Howdy, sirs. The name’s Angus McDonald, and I’m the world’s greatest lawman.”


End file.
